


The Park

by katsa5



Category: Original Work
Genre: A little romantic, Catharsis, Developing Friendships, Gen, Original Female Character - Freeform, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsa5/pseuds/katsa5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance meeting changes the life of one man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Park

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this story was only an exercise to improve writing dialogue. Turned into something lovely.

**The Park**

 

His eyes snapped open with a shiver. The bright fluorescent lights pierced his eyes like needles, immediately rendering asunder all slumber.  His sore back and neck groaned as he sat up in the overstuffed arm chair.  His groggy mind slowly recalled where he was as his eyes settled on the kitschy rug upon the mauve carpet.  His brown eyes moved up the mahogany legs of the glass top coffee table, to the matching chair on the other side, until finally they rested at the night view of outside the wide uncurtained windows.  The weather was still sleeting outside.

His cell phone buzzed.  Distractedly sliding it from pocket to fingertips, he read the text.  "It'll be fine." He instantly answered.   

The receiver immediately texted back, "Are you sure"  

"Took care of it."  

"Are you sure"

That time he quickly answered with a 'zzz' without a look and slid the cellphone back.  The messages were nothing more than static in his tired mind right now.

He stood up to stretch, looking about the almost empty room.  The only person beside himself was a middle aged man behind the check-in desk, who appeared busy at the computer. He looked past the revolving doors; no taxi yet.  The clock overhead said two fourteen.  His plane will be leaving in five hours.  It was more practical to wait at the airport.  But this taxi was taking too long!

With a exhausted sigh, he adjusted his tie with one hand and searched for his cigarettes with the other.  Then he donned his navy blue suit coat.  With a quick dart of his eyes, he noted his small suitcase and briefcase were tucked away between the chairs.  His personal phone was locked and copied, so he didn't care what happened to it.  As he passed the check-in desk, he swiped a hotel matchbook from the glass bowl on the tabletop corner.  Hiding his drowsiness with forced focus, he trudged towards the spinning doors.  

Scattered by the city lights, the night was barely visible.  The tall buildings seemed both shelter and entrap the small world within.  Dozens upon dozens of windows from the sidewalk to the sky were like the city daring the stars with a set of its own. Ice crystals bounced all over every surface, sounding like itty bitty popcorn pops. But despite the cold and wet, the city was very busy.  Cars passed back and forth at a barely any faster than the people walking by.  The glistening sidewalks were still crowded with many held umbrellas pacing down and up.  The stomp of shoes, the click of heels, the rolling of small wheels accented the ebb and flow of the vehicular droning.  

Leaning against the hotel's stone exterior, he ignored the world about him.  What mattered was the cigarette now and the plane later.  As it quickly burned, he debated whether to go back to that chair and either sleep or answer the piling emails and texts.  Slowly he looked about at the lights that sparkled in the sleet.  No difference to him but, with hours of sitting ahead of him, some movement would be best.  Going against the flow of the coats and umbrellas, he walked down the sidewalk.

Within two blocks and just past a main crosswalk was a small city park.  The kind that someone likely planned in order to beautify some bland city block.  Surrounded by iron fences, it was small and cozy with iced brown trees, frozen dying grass, and a white paved pathway that curved through.  As he stood by the entrance, soft notes caught his ears; a distant strum of a guitar.  The city noises muddled whatever song was being played.  He tossed his spent cigarette into the gutter and, curious, strolled up the concrete path to find the source. 

By the dry, frosted fountain stood the musician.

She stood with the guitar in her thin gloved hands, playing a radio hit song while a boot lightly tapped the beat.  An aged blue bandana held long, thick red hair that descended down her back in waves.  Her green coat and jeans appeared well worn.  A thick knit brown scarf draped about her neck.  The guitar case lied open next to her with a printed 'Any Request' sign propped upon it.  Keeping behind the walkers, he stood listening.  She started singing a Pink song someone asked for.  He sighed, thinking how her voice was too lovely for it.  The phone rang in his pocket again. He peeked quickly at who it was than ignored it.

Two more songs had passed and the crowd kept walking by. Still behind the crowds, he sat on a park bench and watched her.  After a Bruno Mars number, their eyes met.  After the second, a Black Keys song, she walked towards him.

She asked, "Like what you hear?"

"You're talented." He muttered.

She cheerfully smiled at him, "Thank you."

"A clear sound and great improvisation. You play professionally?"

"Naah.  This is just a hobby."  She answered. "Do you play?"

"Never have time."

"That happens.  What do you listen to?"

"Honestly," he looked away with a shrug, "never have time for that either."  

"My goodness," grinning as she humorously chided. "that's too busy."  

He shrugged. "It's required." 

"So Busy Man, is there a song you would like to hear?"

He thought a moment.  She's likely too young to know his favorites.  "Do you know 'Up Around the Bend'?"

She grinned as she returned to the fountain, tuning the strings as she walked. "A Classic." she said.  With closing eyes and a gentle smile, she tapped the tempo a bit and began to sing:

 

There's a place up ahead and I'm goin'

Just as fast as my feet can fly

Come away, come away if you're goin',

Leave the sinkin' ship behind.

 

The upbeat song began to resonate with him as he thought of the time when he first it at a diner many years ago.  He languidly stared at her playing, watching those fingers gracefully pluck the strings and the sleet bounce against her hair.  Once again, walkers stopped and began to listen.  Leaning back into the bench and sliding out another cigarette.

 

Bring a song and a smile for the banjo,

Better get while the gettin's good,

Hitch a ride to the end of the highway

Where the neons turn to wood.

 

Flipping the white stick over and under his fingers, his eyes stopped at her open case, the scattered money was sparse.  "Why are you playing here?"  He asked. Mid note, she stopped. His eyes narrowed a bit as he realized his offense.  "Sorry."

Her smile was soft.  "It's all right." she said. She rested the guitar by her side and approached him,  "Money for plane tickets."  She paused, "Those aren't good for you."

He paused in confusion until he saw her looking at the cigarette. He was annoyed. "Nobody smokes them for health."

"Too busy, smoking, and drinking?  You are not taking care of yourself at all." He narrowed his eyes.  "Because I can smell it from here.  Oak Whiskey.” she said, “It's not a bad smell though.  Rustic."  

He turned past her.  Was it that obvious?  He didn't care, but still couldn't deny that he was still a little embarrassed.  He put the cigarette back, "Been trying to quit.  It's not easy."

"No," She gently. "It isn't."

This felt too vulnerable.  "So tickets to where?”

"I'm going home to Texas."  

"Playing in this weather for a visit?"

"I'm moving back actually.  Used to work for Stardian.  Machine-line repair."

His eyes turned down, once again seeing the little money in the case. "I'm very sorry."  Businesses everywhere had been failing in this city.  "Stardian?" he asked.

"Yeah.  They were in the news."

". . . Yes, that's right.  That's where I've heard of it.  In Forbes.  Its a mess.  You dodged a bullet."

“Then you heard about the layoffs.  So here I am, no job, no apartment, all I have to my name is this pack and my guitar. I'm going home.”

"Where in Texas?"

"Canadian."

He smirked.

And she giggled a bit, "yes, it's real."

"In Texas, huh?  I've never heard of that name before."

"It's a small town.  Barely any city, but plenty of farmland, ranches, and wilderness." She strummed her guitar.

As she described her home, he feigned listening a bit as he stared ahead.  He felt perplexed. 

She didn't deserve this.

She sensed his distraction.  Pausing, she held the neck of her guitar, "Boring to city folk, I suppose.  But I always call it home."

"It was me."

She paused and stared at him.  "Huh?"

He folded his hands together as he leaned forward with elbows on knees.  "I'm a Structural Advisor.  For Stardian.  What the news won't tell you is poor record keeping and embezzlement is what's hurting it.  I was hired to cover it up and make all of their problems go away.  That was impossible, but I was able to minimize the damage with some fund juggling.  The money for the machine repair was . . . One of the first to be axed."  When he looked up again, she was standing before him.  Her expression was unreadable. "Sorry.  I don't know why I'm telling you . . ."  She silently listened.  "It's just . . . You didn't deserve it."

Her voice was gentle. "Did any of them?"

"I . . ."  

She sat down next to him. "Is there any proof?"

"No.  Records were expunged."

She stared ahead.  Silent.  Not moving.  His mind raced for any suggestion for what to do next.  Should he leave?  But even if it was best, he knew he couldn't.  So he just stared blankly ahead with her.  A cold wind past through.  Finally she said, "Then it's like you said, times are tough."

His hands fisted as he spun around.  "That's it?!"  She didn't even flinch.  "It was injustice!  They don't care what happened as long as no one noticed!  I know!  I made that happen!"

"There's nothing I can do."

"You can't give up!"

She turned towards him, "This isn't giving up, it's letting go.  If I acted out, what would change?  Would it give me back my job?  Anyone else's?  It won't." 

"But-! It-!" He stuttered.  His face once again sunk into his fists, now feeling hot.  His head swam as he realized his mistake.  He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and he twisted away from it.  This was worse than her anger.  "Don't!  Don't be kind!"

Her voice was gentle, "What should I be?"

"You should hate me!"

"Why?"

"Why?!  I crushed your dreams!"

"You had a job to do."

"Not to ruin lives!" 

By now, people were noticing his yells and were watching. The two looked away a bit in silence, and the crowd dismissed it and slowly dispersed. Once again, she placed her hand on his shoulder.  This time, he didn't twist away. "What's your name?"

"James." He sulkily muttered.

"James, I don't hate you.  Please don't hate yourself."  she told him. His head shot up. "You're not someone terrible."

"You don't know that." he argued.

"I'm sure of it."  She said.  "Would someone so terrible try to make things right by a stranger?  Could you gain anything from it?"  She leaned closer.  "I think I understand.  You don't have to keep going.  You can stop."

"Then what?" he argued.

"Don't know.  No one does.  Do you like where you are going?"

He paused. The question sunk in like a boulder into the ocean, “. . . . Not anymore." he calmly said.

“Then you can stop." she told him.

"It makes no difference."

“I think it will.  For you.  That's all that matters.”

"I can't just walk out."

"Why not?"

"Because . . ."

"You can."

"But . . . ."

"James, you look so tired.  Is there anything there worth killing yourself over?"

". . . . Not anymore."

"Then it's ok to stop.  It's ok.” Her hand reached out and covered his. Surprisingly, she felt warm. “For what it's worth, I forgive you."

He silently gazed in her brown eyes. They were so beautifully sincere that he felt like melting before her. He slowly turned his hand and gently grasped hers. He had no idea how long they were like this; he lost all sense of time. "What's your name?"

"I'm Dana."

He took out his wallet from his coat pocket and slid out a pinch of several dollar bills. He just knew that they were all hundreds; didn't matter how many.  He walked over to her guitar case and dropped them in.  Wide eyed, she stared in shock. She started to object.

"Yes, I do." He interrupted as turned his head to her, "I've never met someone like you.  You are so honest and genuine. It's the least I could do for you and see that you make it home."  

She slowly stood up before him, and they stared at each other.

Suddenly, he shivered.  He had forgotten how cold he was.  The wind had repeatedly cut through his suit coat, and he never noticed.  As he rubbed his freezing arms, she quickly closed her guitar in its case, opened her back pack, and took out a green knit blanket.  "I'm sorry, I should've said something. I figured you were used to the cold." His breath hitches again as she wrapped it around his shoulders.

"I wasn't thinking." He muttered as shaking hands grasped the cloth tightly about him.  

"You should go inside." she suggested.

The advise sounded wise until he realized that she will soon leave and he will never see her again.  "Not yet." He turned back to the park bench. "May I hear one more song?"

"But-."

"Please?"

She paused then answered with a smile, “OK.” She restrapped her guitar with a broadening smile, "Anything.  Anything at all and I will play my best for you."

He faintly smiled back at her.  There could only be one song. "Do you know Shenandoah?"

She comically pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "Been a while, but i think I remember."  She quickly checked the tune once more and began to play.

The ascending strumming soothed his ears.  He leaned back against the bench back as memories washed over him like warm water, his mind wandering to when he first heard that song in what felt like a lifetime ago.  A bright spring day breeze gently rolled in the school yard's green grass.  In the brick school building behind him, he saw his mother who was teaching the kindergarten class.

Brought back to the present, he suddenly felt exhausted.  Was it the lulling music or the warmth next to him?  Maybe both.  Slowly succumbing, he leaned against her side with his head rolling upon her shoulder.  Uninterrupted, the music continued to play.  The tickle of her hair on his cheek was his last sensation before he fell asleep.

 

Fluorescent lights again greeted his eyes, but this time coaxingly gentle.  Minus a slight crick in the neck, he felt more refreshed than he had in many years.  As he blinked awake, the lights became less intense, and he realized it was sunlight.  He jumped awake.  

He was back in the hotel lobby.  In confusion, he looked about the room.  He felt fine.  His briefcase was next to him.  Then he noticed he felt warm.  That was when he noticed the green knit blanket wrapped about him.  

Memories rushed back to him like a kick to the head.  He remembered Dana.  Then he fell asleep.  And now he was back at the lobby.  Was it all a dream? Did she or someone else carry him the whole way and he never noticed? On that thought, he panicked.  He checked his phone, which was still in his pocket and locked on the screen where he left it.  His wallet was still in his pocket, untouched.  His cigarettes were left alone.  His briefcase still locked.  The only thing missing was his matchbook.  That made him smile.  But it faded as he grew guilty for jumping to such conclusions.  He hung is head. 

Barely turning, he checked the phone's clock.  His plane had left two hours ago.  But it didn't matter. He was surprised at himself with how little he cared.  

Folding the blanket, packing his remaining items, and remembering to wear his tan overcoat this time, he readied himself and went outside to find a taxi. The sleeting weather had long dispersed into a bright sun and clear blue sky. Only an occasional puffy cotton cloud was left. The ice made the city streets and sidwalks glisten like diamonds in the sun's rays. He can easily buy another plane ticket to his destination at the airport.  But there was still some other place he'd rather be. A bright yellow sedan drove up within seconds, “Main airport.”

The traffic was still as slow as ever. The taxi was only slightly faster than a walker's pace. As it taxi drudged along, he stared outside as his fingers strummed on the blanket. As it drove by the park, he quickly looked out and down the pathway.

His phone began ringing again. With a reluctant sigh, he answered but without a word. It was loud with yelling for several minutes, but it seemed like it didn't register with him. “Yeah. I know.” he sighed again, “I'll be there shortly.” When he hung up, the tall skyscrapers had given way to a bridge. Then the phone rang again. He gazed down at the blanket that he had now grasped in his hand.

He turned off his phone and put it away in his briefcase. His laptop was next to it. He paused in thought.

The company records were expunged but not the copies for his personal reports.

He unhesitatingly opened up his email, typed a message to a reporter he knew, dropped the entire file into the attachment, and send it away with a victorious smile. He finished with a tossing of his cigarette pack out of the car window, then leaned back into the seat.

Texas sounded nice.

 

 


End file.
